


once, twice, again

by shuofthewind



Series: Le Monde Solaire [7]
Category: The Hobbit (Jackson Movies), The Hobbit - All Media Types, The Hobbit - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Alternate Universe - Always a Different Sex, Alternate Universe - Bilbo Remains In Erebor, Alternate Universe - Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies, Alternate Universe - Gender Changes, Bechdel Test Pass, Cunnilingus, F/F, F/M, Female Bilbo, Hand Jobs, J.R.R. Tolkien Is Rolling In His Grave, Multi, Polyamory, Rebuilding Erebor, Threesome - F/F/M, Vaginal Fingering
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-03
Updated: 2015-03-03
Packaged: 2018-03-16 03:18:37
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,410
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3472478
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shuofthewind/pseuds/shuofthewind
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>An assassination attempt (or, as Blue insists, an attempt to scare the pants off her) results in her actually losing her pants. And her skirt. And pretty much every article of clothing. Fancy that. </p><p>[<em>“I’m fine,” Blue says, once she’s caught her breath. “Fine,” she tells Kíli before he even opens his mouth. She turns and takes both his hands, drawing him onto the bed, and once he’s settled she straddles him in one swift move. Kíli yelps. “Perfectly well, in fact,” she adds, sliding her hands across his chest and down to his belt. “Would you like me to prove it?”</em></p><p>
  <em>“Is now the best time?” Kíli asks weakly, though behind them Tauriel has gone the sort of still that means she’s watching very intently. Blue undoes his belt and tosses it aside.</em>
</p><p><em>"I think now would be the perfect time,” she says. “It’s a good distraction. Besides—I do feel a bit giddy, still. Best to put that to good use.”</em>]</p>
            </blockquote>





	once, twice, again

**Author's Note:**

> I apologize for the horrible mess that this is. I tried, and ended up with roughly 4k of smut and 4k of vaguely related plot. /hides face in hands
> 
> Also I wrote this before and after a workshift and had a very uncomfortable time selling videogames. My brain and sex-drive kind of had a massive argument during work, and I came out the loser. So. I hope y'all appreciate what I suffer, haha. 
> 
> Some descriptions of violence and blood. (Basically someone attacks Blue and it doesn't end well for him.) No dub-con. No other warnings that I can think of, other than it's not beta'ed, so...yeah.

The thing about being bonded and braided to not one but two people, and not just two people but two people of different races, means that at all times someone’s eyes were on them, and most of those times that someone isn’t thinking very nice things about them at all.

“He’s staring again,” says Tauriel in her ear, from her position beside Blue at the banqueting table. Blue sniffs, and fights the urge to reach for her dinner knife. Bram is one of the new arrivals from Ered Luin, one of the many dwarrow who’d trailed the Lady Dís across Middle Earth to trickle back into Erebor, creeping back home. That or slinking in, she thinks, like a rat returning to a freshened carcass.

No, that’s unfair. Bram is a good miner, and a good dwarf. He’s just—not very fond of Blue. Or Blue isn’t very fond of him, because Bram doesn’t like Tauriel or Blue much.

Bram thinks Tauriel is a spy. Blue thinks Bram is a priss, and a bigot, and ought to be tossed off the battlements. Tauriel thinks the whole thing is hilarious.

“You have the most frightening look on your face,” says Tauriel under her breath, taking a prim sip of wine. On her other side, Kíli is roaring with laughter at something Bard’s said. The first anniversary of the death of Smaug—the first anniversary of the Battle of the Five Armies—means a banquet. They’ve been preparing for it for weeks now, and it feels as though half of Lake-town is crammed into the Gallery of the Kings, alongside a contingent from Mirkwood—Legolas Greenleaf is looking near constipated at being seated next to Lady Dís—and even Beorn, who has claimed a whole table of his own and refuses to touch anything that hasn’t been harvested from the fields. Blue catches Thorin’s eye, at the top of the table. He’s being taciturn as usual, spinning his meat knife on the tabletop, digging a hole into the expensive cedar. He gives her a pleading look, and Blue cocks an eyebrow at him. _Be nice_ , she mouths, and Thorin snorts and leans over to mutter in Fíli’s ear. “What are you thinking, _a’maelamin_?”

“I’m thinking that bribing Thorin with honey cakes won’t be enough,” Blue murmurs. “He looks ready to stab your prince in the back.”

“Oh, no,” says Tauriel. “My lord Oakenshield would never be so dishonorable as to stab my prince in the _back_.”

“So the front’s all right, then.”

Tauriel taps her finger against her lower lip thoughtfully. “Or the side. Quite possibly between his—”

“Careful now,” says Bofur from Blue’s other side, grinning. “Sensitive male ears at the table, milady elfling. Most of us are quite fond of all our bits.”

“I was going to say between his ears,” says Tauriel, but she hooks her fingers around Blue’s knee, swiping her thumb in the smooth, even circles that means she’s holding back laughter. “I do not know what you mean to imply, master dwarf.”

Bofur roars with laughter, and throws a handful of mushrooms at the back of Dwalin’s head. Blue ducks absentmindedly, so that no mashed potatoes get into her hairdo—she’d spent quite a lot of time on it, after all—and then covers Tauriel’s hand with her own, weaving their fingers together under the table.

“Do not let him bait you, _aew_ ,” says Tauriel. She darts her eyes towards Bram, who is now scowling. “He is trying to madden you.”

“What he’s _trying_ to do is to get the pair of us thrown out,” says Blue, stabbing at her boiled carrot. “Because he thinks that we’re not good enough, because we’re not _dwarrow_. No offense,” she adds to Bofur, but Bofur’s not listening, since he’s wiping drops of gravy out of his beard and bellowing loud enough to deafen her.

Tauriel lets out a short breath, and squeezes Blue’s fingers. “I confess,” she says in a low voice, “that I would be overwhelmed if not for you, my Blue. An elf and a dwarf, alone—we would have been driven from both kingdoms, would have been rejected by all in spite of everything. But everyone is too afraid of you to dare say anything.”

“Stuff and nonsense.” Blue sips at her wine, ignoring the way her ears are burning. “Nobody’s frightened of me. I’m not frightening at all.” A few seats down, Lady Dís raises her gaze, and inclines her head to Blue. Blue nods back, and then turns to look at Tauriel, who’s stifling a smile. “What?”

“Nothing.”

“She’s really not very scary,” says Blue stubbornly. “Once you get used to her.”

“I seem to recall that you very nearly fainted before going in to our audience with my Lady Dís and her royal brother.”

“Shut up, you said you’d never talk about that.”

Tauriel tips her head back and laughs, high and silvery. She kisses Blue’s knuckles. “I swore I would speak of it to no one, not that I would never talk about it. I feel that you are not no one.”

“ _Traitor_.”

“Traitor to who?” asks Kíli, leaning around Tauriel to grin at the pair of them. He looks so happy, she thinks—he’s really Erebor’s laughing prince, the way that Fíli too steady to be, the way that Thorin is too scarred to manage. She’s heard from Dís that Fíli takes after their father, his and Kíli’s, and that Kíli is more like Thorin’s lost brother Frerin—bright smiles and loud laughter and a streak of recklessness that might get him killed someday.

_Not if I have anything to say about it._

“She swore she’d keep a secret and now she’s teasing me. It’s not fair.”

“I have told no one!” laughs Tauriel. “And I never shall, so you need not worry.”

“Oh,” says Kíli. “ _That_ secret. The one I’m not supposed to know.”

“That,” Tauriel adds, “was an unfortunate mishap on my part.”

“I tortured her,” says Kíli. “It was all very bloody and terrible.”

“Oh, _Lady_ ,” says Blue, and hides her face in her hands. Tauriel presses her leg into Blue’s, and Blue presses back. She loves these two, she thinks, peeking through her fingers. She loves them so very dearly, it’s nearing the ridiculous.  

A few seats down the table, Sigrid shrieks when Tilda dumps a goblet of cold wine down her back. Bain howls with laughter. Bard looks as though he might like to sink into the floor before Glóin claps him on the shoulder and shouts something complimentary about how he’s raising his children as Sigrid and Tilda shoot off to places unknown. Poor Bard doesn’t quite know where to look. She sighs, and scoots back out of her chair. “Honestly, am I the only one who thinks to rescue anyone around here?”

“Not in the slightest,” says Tauriel. “As I recall. Though, in this instance I will sit out, I think. I fear Tilda when she has mischief on her mind.”

“That’s because you taught her half of what she knows about mischief,” Blue says. “Kíli taught her the other half.”

Kíli opens his mouth, and then closes it again, grinning.

“To be fair, Bain had some small part in it.” Tauriel catches her hand, and kisses the palm. “Return soon.”

“I’ll try, though Tilda likes to drag me places.” She sets Tauriel’s hand to her cheek for a moment, tugs Kíli’s braid (he leans into the touch, so of course she has to linger there for a second or two), and then marches off to track down Tilda and Sigrid.    

It’s not all that difficult to find them, to be entirely honest. She can hear Tilda shrieking happily even over the roar of the Gallery, and that’s easy enough to trace. She turns right and then left and then goes up a set of stairs onto one of the balconies. Sigrid’s already cornered her little sister, laughing more than lecturing, and she’s rubbing her first two knuckles into Tilda’s newly-mussed hair in vengeance. Tilda squeals when Blue steps out onto the balcony. “Blue! Blue Blue Blue, did you see?”

Blue turns into Tilda’s tackling hug, swinging her around a little to keep Tilda from choking her. “Yes, my darling girl, I did. Sigrid will have to throw that dress out, I’m afraid, that wine stains terribly.”

“It’s all right.” Sigrid shrugs. “It’s one of the old Dale dresses made over, and I didn’t like it anyway. It itches terribly.”

“Mine’s new,” Tilda says gleefully. “But Sigrid thought we ought to represent Dale as best we can, considering everything, even though _I_ said she’d just catch fleas using one of those old things—”

“I’m quite sure your sister washed it before she wore it, and if she _did_ find any fleas, she’d’ve put them in your bed. Or in Bain’s.”

Tilda’s nose wrinkles. “ _Ew_.”

“Go back to your father, before he has a panic or Glóin drives him through the floor by smacking him too hard. We’ll be along soon.”

Tilda busses Blue’s cheek (Blue’s ears go pink) and then scuttles back towards the Gallery. Sigrid lets out a breath, and the corners of her mouth lift a little as she twines her wine-soaked hair off the back of her neck, holding it up. “Goodness, it’s hot in there. I always forget how many people the Gallery can hold.”

“I forget that a year ago it couldn’t hold anyone at all, because it was all layered over with gold and torn tapestries.” Blue leans her elbows on the rim of the balcony. It’s one of the wooden ones that the stone-carvers use to work on their mountain patterns, but the wood is thick and steady, and it doesn’t shake under her weight like some of the other things she’s balanced on in the past two years. She’s perfectly comfortable. Sigrid stays away from the edge, she notices, but the fresh air is putting roses into her cheeks. She looks well. Blue hasn’t seen her in a few months, but the mantle of heir to Dale seems to suit her. Bard still insists that he’s not technically lord of Dale, but she’s also certain that he’ll be voted or bullied into the position sooner or later, and most people already look to the line of Girion for aid. Sigrid seems to have taken to it much more easily than her father, in any case. “It’s nice, having the mountain full. Or—we’re not even close to full, but it’s lively. It’s good, to have the scent of dragon finally scrubbed out of the halls.”

Sigrid gives her a sideways look, and then crosses her arms over her chest, shivering a little in the chilly air. There’s snow threatening on the horizon, though it hasn’t begun to fall yet. Durin’s Day has passed. Blue reaches up to her throat, to the woven elf-knot from Tauriel with the small silver beads on each side from Kíli, and twists one of the beads between her fingers. “Are you well, Sigrid? I’ve not heard much from you, lately.”

“Oh.” Sigrid turns. “I’m quite all right. Dale’s doing very well. We’ve struck up a trading allegiance with the Wood Elves, based on some of the old treaties that the line of Girion had with them decades ago. It means that we’re getting more supplies than ever before. And! The eagles from the Carrock are coming to visit in a few months’ time. I think the ravens might have told you. But we’re going to make an alliance, or try to. The eagles helped us in the battle when they had no need to; many of the Lake-men owe their lives to a bird or three.”

These tidbits are all things that Nori’s already told her, through his lurking, his traipsing through Dale taverns and all his little spies in every settlement worth living in and a great many that are not, all through the east. Blue congratulates Sigrid anyway, because the girl is positively _glowing_ with pride at what she’s managed to accomplish. Bard is a natural leader in times of strife, but like Thorin, he’s not the best at knowing what to do in peace. Bureaucracy eludes both of them, one too impatient, the other steady enough but without the turn of mind necessary to really enjoy it. Sigrid and Lady Dís, though—they’re the rulers of peace, the ones who thrive in political machinations and treaties and shipments of spice and soldiers. Blue makes a mental note to introduce the pair of them tonight, if she can manage it. They’ll get along well, if Sigrid shows off that bit of iron in her spine that Dís likes.

Sigrid opens her mouth to speak, and then her eyes widen. Blue feels the footsteps through the wood before she hears Sigrid scream, and she ducks without thinking. She’s been training with Kíli and Fíli, with Dwalin and Tauriel—of course she ducks. A thick-set dwarf with a beard blacker than night swears in Khuzdûl when he misses, and spins one of his hatchets in his hands. Blue curses herself for leaving all her pointy things in her room, and pushes Sigrid.

“Go. Get out of here. _Go_.”

“I’ll not leave you—”

“ _Go_!” Blue screams, as the dwarf lunges at her again. Sigrid lets out a little whimpering sound and bolts. The last Blue sees of her is the flicker of her hair around the corner before she flings herself out of the way, rolling. Her legs get tangled in her skirts. Blue rolls onto her back and lashes out with both feet, catching the dwarf in the knee. She hears something crack, and he howls, staggering, dropping one of his hatchets. She scrabbles for the door, only to shriek when he snags her ankle and yanks her back. The second axe comes down, and she rolls, but not quite quick enough—the tip of the blade catches her upper arm, and now it’s stinging, hot blood is staining her dress, and Lady Dís is going to _kill_ her.

She manages to get hold of the abandoned hatchet and break his nose with a good kick to the face before Tauriel arrives. She moves like a ghost, and the only hint Blue has that she’s there before she hooks one of her long-handled knives around the dwarf’s neck is a flash of moonlight off of red hair. Kíli’s right behind her, bow drawn, arrow nocked; he circles around until he’s standing between Blue and the black-bearded dwarf, all levity gone, his mouth thin and hard as Thorin’s. Blue keeps hold of the hatchet and staggers to her feet as Thorin and half the Company thunder onto the balcony. Thorin’s eyes are dancing, with rage or relief she can’t tell; he nods to Tauriel as he passes her.

“Elf,” he says. Tauriel does not smile.

“My lord.”

“He didn’t say anything,” Blue says, as Kíli backs up until he’s standing beside her, his eyes darting from the dwarf in Tauriel’s grasp to her shoulder and back. “He just attacked—he could have hurt Sigrid—”

“He could’ve hurt _you_ ,” Bofur bursts out, looking furious. Then he actually gets a good look at her, and adds, “Well, worse than he did, seems like.”

Kíli’s mouth goes even thinner, if that’s possible. Blue makes a mental note to smack Bofur later.

“Are you well?” Tauriel asks, before Thorin can say anything else. Blue nods.

“I’m fine. I’ve had worse.”

Kíli glances at his uncle, and when Thorin nods, he lowers his bow. “Mahal, Blue. Leave it to you.”

“I didn’t do it on purpose— _ow_ , don’t _poke_ it—”

Kíli mutters something under his breath that she can’t quite make out, and tears a strip of cloth off of the expensive new tunic. She thinks she might hear Dori’s eyes roll back into his head from here. His hands are very steady when he folds it up and presses it to the slice in her shoulder, tying it down with a few quick, practiced movements. Tauriel’s turned over her prisoner to Dwalin, who looks ready to crack skulls; she joins them in an instant, touching her fingers to Blue’s back, as if making sure she’s still there.

“I’d like to know who he is,” Blue says to Thorin. Thorin waves a hand at her.

“You will be the first. Get that fixed, I will not have you dying on me now.” With that, he stalks off with what Blue could swear is a spring in his step. He might even be _whistling,_ which is a crime against all that is good and green in the world. Thorin Oakenshield does not _whistle_ , not even when confronted with an oh-so-convenient excuse to escape from raucous parties that she knows he doesn’t particularly enjoy. Blue decides to forget that this has ever happened.

“Come on,” says Tauriel. “We will go back to our rooms, I think. Enough has happened, tonight.”

They can’t retreat immediately, of course. Sigrid has to be handled, and handled carefully. It’s not the first time someone’s tried to kill Blue, or Tauriel for that matter, and Blue and Sigrid exchange letters by the week, but there’s a difference between hearing about it and seeing it. Sigrid is nearly in hysterics by the time Blue emerges from the dark hallway no worse for wear. She has to promise quite faithfully to stay safe (and she scowls at Tauriel and at Kíli when they swear not to let her out of their sight) before Sigrid will be coaxed to bed by a stormy-looking Bard. Dís is holding court quite effectively over what remains of the table. She thinks Bombur might not have even noticed any of it.

Bram is still watching her. She makes a mental note to inform Nori, if he hasn’t already noticed.

“I’d like to retire, if you please,” says Blue, deliberately turning away from Bram and hooking her hand into Kíli’s elbow. Her heart is still hammering in her chest, and a clammy sweat has broken out on the back of her neck. It’s the start of panic, or shock, or something else silly, and the only thing that can solve it is hiding somewhere clean and safe and warm with the two people she trusts most in the world. “I think it’d be best.”

Tauriel nods, her mouth thin as a blade. She’s noticed Bram, too. Blue reaches out and catches Tauriel’s hand before she can do something rash, squeezing her fingers hard. She wonders, sometimes, what would have happened if Kíli and Tauriel had found each other without her—bright and burning, the pair of them, reckless and quick with word and blade. They would have managed to get into all sorts of trouble, alone. She likes to think she steadies them, a little.

“Yes,” Tauriel says finally, turning away from Bram. “I think it would be wise.”

“Good,” says Kíli, “because assassins give me a headache.”

Someone’s already lit the braziers in their rooms, and so it’s not nearly so insufferably cold as the balcony was. Technically, both Blue and Tauriel have rooms of their own, to use as they see fit, but the three of them generally gravitate towards one bedchamber and one bed, and that is where they go now. Tauriel stitches up the cut in three neat movements, cleansing it and binding it with the same steady hands that all warriors have in this sort of moment. Blue’s trembling by the time it’s done; she tears off the gown (something she’ll now have to toss, because there’s blood and a great big rip in the sleeve) and pulls on a nightgown instead before undoing her hair. Or trying, anyway. Her fingers are shaking too hard to find the pins. She can see Tauriel and Kíli exchanging a look in the mirror before Kíli bounces off the mattress and comes to help her, picking out the bronze and silver pins with the ease of practice and depositing them in the little bowl on her boudoir.

“I’m not helpless,” says Blue, but she leans back into his hands anyway. It’s soothing. Her arm aches distantly under the numbing cream Tauriel’s spread on it. Kíli laughs a little.

“I like helping. You know me.”

“I know you like meddling,” says Blue, but she catches his eye in the mirror and smiles. Kíli meets her gaze, but doesn’t return the smile; he goes back to ferreting out pins. She tilts her head so he can find one of the hidden sapphire pins behind her ear, and bites back a sigh. He doesn’t think she’s helpless, she knows that; she’d not love him so much if he did. He’s making sure she’s here, in that odd dwarven way—tangling his fingers in her hair and accidentally-on-purpose stroking his fingers over the pulse-points on her neck, to feel her heartbeat, to hear her breathe. She lets him, and only wishes that Tauriel would come nearer too, because Tauriel has a familiar expression on her face that means for a long night of rumination and guilt if it’s not headed off immediately. 

“I am perfectly all right,” Blue says. She’s tempted to bite him to get her point across. Though it’s doubtful he’d even really feel it—dwarrow have thick skin. “For the Lady’s sake, it wasn’t as bad as the last time. All’s well, truly.”

“But it shouldn’t have happened,” Kíli says. Tauriel nods. “We should’ve been paying more attention—”

“And I suppose that relaxing, in your own home, and not keeping an eye out for _every_ newcomer as if they’re going to try and kill perfectly innocent and decent folk for nothing more than a few laughs is completely unacceptable?”

Kíli gets that mulish set to his jaw that he shares with all his kin. “We should’ve been paying more attention.”

“Oh my goodness, will the pair of you _stop_ acting as though I’m dying?” Blue smacks her hairbrush against the top of the boudoir, and turns in her chair. “If he’d really wanted me dead, he’d have aimed better. It’s as simple as that. He wanted to scare me more than anything, I think, and he drasted well succeeded, but I am _alive_ , he’s been _caught_ , we’ll work out who sent him to do it in the morning. Can we just—gloom is not allowed in here. I forbid it.”

Kíli sets his jaw. Tauriel looks grim. There’s only one thing for it, then. Blue stands, catching Kíli’s hand, and tugs him back to the bed. Then she clambers up next to Tauriel, going up on her knees, and cups Tauriel’s face in her hands. Tauriel is stiff as a board, her eyes flickering over Blue’s face as if she’s trying to memorize it. Blue meets her gaze for a long moment, and then kisses her, breathing slowly through her nose, not moving, just pressing close. Tauriel stays completely frozen for a few heartbeats, and then slowly her hand comes up to muss Blue’s loose hair.

“I’m fine,” Blue says, once she’s caught her breath. “ _Fine_ ,” she tells Kíli before he even opens his mouth. She turns and takes both his hands, drawing him onto the bed, and once he’s settled she straddles him in one swift move. Kíli yelps. “Perfectly well, in fact,” she adds, sliding her hands across his chest and down to his belt. “Would you like me to prove it?”

“Is now the best time?” Kíli asks weakly, though behind them Tauriel has gone the sort of still that means she’s watching very intently. Blue undoes his belt and tosses it aside.

“I think now would be the perfect time,” she says. “It’s a good distraction. Besides—I do feel a bit giddy, still. Best to put that to good use.”

She doesn’t say that her heart is hammering like a jackrabbit’s, no matter how much truth she’s told them. She doesn’t say that to see Tauriel appearing out of the dark with her knives flashing in the moonlight was like having cold water splashed in her face; she doesn’t say that having Kíli emerge close behind and come right to her, stand between her and danger while Tauriel held it back, is perhaps the most beautiful and arousing thing she’s ever encountered, and she’s encountered a great many of both over the past year or two. She doesn’t say it, because she can’t, but when she kisses Kíli, sliding her hands up under his tunic and over his chest, she thinks he might be able to tell. She knows Tauriel can, because when Kíli leans back to pull his tunic off (without disengaging Blue from his lap, which is a feat in and of itself) Tauriel runs her fingers over the point of Blue’s ear and kisses her, her tongue curling under Blue’s, tugging and nipping and _demanding._

Yes, Blue thinks dizzily, as every touch makes her squirm, makes her breasts tighten and her legs clench tighter around Kíli’s waist. Tauriel knows.

“Blue,” Kíli says, and when she turns he surges up underneath her to set his mouth to hers. She strokes her fingers over the bareness of him, over the hair on his chest (not so much as the other dwarves, but still far more than a hobbit), the scars from the Battle and skirmishes she’s never seen, the family tattoo against his shoulder. They’ve been designing another, the three of them, a mark for the triad, and when Kíli shifts from her mouth to her cheek she pushes him back to the mattress to set her mouth to the skin where it will go, just above his left nipple and beside it. Kíli makes a soft sound when she scrapes her teeth and tongue over the little nub, his hands sliding up her sides to her shoulders. And that, she thinks, is quite the most wonderful sound she’s ever heard in her life, except perhaps for Tauriel when someone’s fingers are inside her and someone else is sucking her earlobe.

There are a lot of wonderful sounds in the world.

She goes back to tracing the line of Kíli’s ribs with her tongue, scars and skin both, as Tauriel slides off the bed and begins to unbutton her clothes. She doesn’t hurry through it, but she’s not slow, either; her hands are steady as rocks as she tosses her jacket aside, tugs her tunic up over her head. Blue loves Tauriel’s skin in a way very different to the way she loves Kíli’s—Tauriel has been a warrior longer than any of them, and there are scars and pockmarks to show for it, but there’s also _freckles_. Little sun-spots dot her skin, her shoulders and down her back, over her collarbone and along her arms. Tauriel tugs off her boots, shucks her trousers, and then returns to the bed, completely naked and content with it. Blue lifts her head a little, and presses her mouth to the underside of Kíli’s jaw.

“Her first?” she asks, so soft that she can barely hear herself. “Or you?”

“Oh, I am quite content,” says Tauriel lazily, though her eyes are blade-sharp. She lifts her hands to the tips of her ears, stroking them for a moment or two, before dragging her fingers down over her own throat, across her breasts, over her belly to the thatch of red curls between her legs. “If you would like me to touch, please inform me. I can manage alone, for the moment.”

“Well, then,” says Blue when she finds her voice again. “We’ll keep that in mind.”

Kíli swears quite loudly and emphatically in Khuzdûl.

“See that you do,” says Tauriel, and then closes her eyes. Blue fights the urge to just watch—she’s found that she enjoys watching, in a way she’d never considered to do before getting tangled up in Kíli and Tauriel—and turns back to the dwarf that’s lying flat on his back across the bed, his pupils blown wide and blotches of color spreading over his cheeks. He watches her, his eyes half-closed, his teeth digging into his lower lip to keep from making too much sound. Blue shifts until she’s resting just over his cock, which is half-hard and getting harder, and smooths her fingers over the hair on his chest.

“Hello,” she says, and he blinks slowly at her, his lips curving up in the first smile he’s had since they’d retired for the night.

“Hello,” he says, and reaches up to touch her cheek. Blue leans into it; she kisses his palm, and then the thin skin on the inside of his wrist. Kíli shivers a bit at the feel of it, and she _loves_ that, she loves that she can do that, she loves that he has no shame in showing her how affected he is by her, by both of them. She’s not sure if it’s a dwarrow thing, or a Durin thing, or simply a part of what makes Kíli, Kíli, but she loves it and she loves him and she loves them and she can’t breathe for a moment from the feel of it.

“You’re still dressed,” he says.

“Oh,” says Blue, “you’re right,” and she tugs the nightgown up and over her head in one smooth motion. His eyes get even darker, if possible, and he lifts his hands and meets her gaze before stroking his thumbs over her nipples, cupping her breasts in his hands. The first time they’d done this, Blue had wondered if he found breasts displeasing—dwarves aren’t very differently shaped, no matter their gender, and she’s yet to meet a dwarrowdam that she could tell apart from male compatriots on sight. She knows better now. She arches her back, trying to lean closer into the touch, and the cool beads at the end of her braids catch in her collarbone, a little knob of cold against skin that’s flushed and damp with sweat. Her smallclothes are feeling a bit uncomfortable. Kíli goes up on one elbow and swipes his tongue over the line of skin between her breasts, over the aching tips of them, before he leans forward and sucks one of her nipples into his mouth. Blue makes a throaty noise and bites down hard on the back of her wrist, trying to stay quiet—her voice carries, and she’s seen Fíli’s pink ears the next morning to prove it. All of a sudden, though, Tauriel is there, drawing her hand away.

“No,” she says. “I would not have you gagged.”

“I thought—you were just watching,” Blue says, through a sudden curling haze. Tauriel’s smile is wicked.

“I changed my mind,” she says, and then her mouth is on Blue’s and Blue has sunk her hands into Tauriel’s hair and Kíli’s tongue is fluttering against her breast. Breath and tongues and sweat. She draws a sudden sharp breath when someone—Kíli, it’s Kíli, the fingers are thicker and the thumb just a little crooked—slides their hand between her legs. _Sneak_ , she thinks, _underhanded sneak,_ but then his thumb, unerringly even through the cloth, starts moving in slow maddening circles around her clit, and she whimpers into Tauriel’s mouth, her hips jerking in odd little stops and starts.

“Me first, then,” she says woozily. Kíli (switching from one breast to the other) huffs a laugh against her that makes her skin pebble with goosebumps. 

“If you thought it would be otherwise after a night like this,” says Tauriel, nosing her way down to Blue’s throat, “you were gravely mistaken.”

“Oh.”

“Blue,” says Tauriel, “ _a’maelamin, aew._ ” She moves back up, tracing out patterns with her mouth, and then suddenly there’s warmth and wetness against the tip of Blue’s ear as Tauriel takes it into her mouth. Blue _moans,_ because she can’t help it—it feels as though an electric shock has shot through her body, from her ear to her clit and back, and she can feel Tauriel smirking and Kíli smiling against her breast. She’s going to _kill_ them, she really is. Tauriel does it again, and Blue seizes the nearest thing she can find, which turns out to be Kíli, Kíli and Kíli’s hair that she weaves tight between her fingers, tugging a growling groan from the back of his throat.

“Too many clothes,” he says against her breast, and Tauriel draws her tongue down the curve of Blue’s ear before humming agreement.

“Too many for you, as well,” she says, and then she’s stolen Blue. Blue whines—she’s cold, all of a sudden, and the pounding between her legs is going untreated now, her nipples are hard enough to hurt, and drast and blam them but she’s _cold_ —but then she’s wrapped up in Tauriel, flat on her back against the mattress as Tauriel moves her hands from Blue’s breasts to her hips and back up, maddeningly slow. She kisses Blue as if they have centuries to pass like this, drawing Blue’s lower lip into her mouth. She can hear rustling as Kíli resettles himself, peeling his trousers off and then returning to the bed, but she’s wrapped up in Tauriel, now, as Tauriel slides her smallclothes down her legs and away, as Tauriel’s long hair falls down into a curtain around her, and Tauriel’s hand slips between her legs and Tauriel, Tauriel, _Tauriel_ —

Tauriel sucks a small spot onto the side of Blue’s neck—an elven thing, she thinks, or perhaps a Tauriel thing, because hobbits never leave marks like that, and dwarves aren’t fond of it either—and then smiles against the hollow of her throat. “Now. What would you have me do?”

“You,” says Blue, squeezing her eyes shut and trying desperately hard to keep her hips still, “are _awful,_ I will _bite_ you—”

“Always the same threat,” says Tauriel in a soft, sing-song voice. Her fingers, more slender than Kíli’s but still long and strong and callused, stroke in the hollow of her thigh, close and a thousand leagues away from what Blue wants. Blue hiccups as Tauriel dips her head, kissing her collarbone, the top of her breast, the round swell of her belly that Blue’s never managed to lose. She traces a path down Blue’s body with her nose and her tongue and her hair. Blue scrabbles for purchase in the blankets when Tauriel scrapes her teeth over Blue’s hipbone, whines when Tauriel soothes the spot with a kiss. She explores Blue’s thighs with her fingertips. “What would you have me do?”

“You put your mouth where it’s supposed to be right this instant,” says Blue. “I never knew elves would be so— _ngh._ ”

Tauriel’s smirking. She can tell just by the way she hums, self-satisfied, and hooks one of Blue’s legs over her shoulder to spread them further apart. Blue keens high in the back of her throat and squeezes her eyes shut. Tauriel presses the full flat of her tongue against Blue’s clit, and then begins to lap in strange little patterns, tracing out letters or numbers or knots, Blue can’t quite tell. Her brain has left the mountain entirely—it’s too delicious, the wet velvet of Tauriel’s tongue and her hands bracing Blue’s jerking hips. Suddenly there’s a mouth on hers—Kíli, stroking the inside of her lip with _his_ tongue, and she kisses back as best she can, digging her nails into his shoulder-blades, warm and wet and sloppy. Tauriel drags her index finger agonizingly slowly along her slit, and then slips it inside, curling it in rhythm—Kíli draws the tip of his tongue along the roof of her mouth, something he picked up from Blue—his fingers twist just so around her nipple—and then suddenly the world has fractured. Her muscles flex and tighten and then she’s shattering, lightning skittering over her skin, from her curling toes all the way up to her scalp, radiating out in vivid twisting patterns from where Tauriel is still stroking with the tip of her clever tongue. Blue lets out a high soft cry, and then collapses boneless against the sheets. Kíli smiles against her mouth when she finally manages to open her eyes.

“I,” she tells Tauriel, slurring a little, “will _definitely_ bite you. When I can move.”

“Oh, good,” says Tauriel, her lips slick. “I had hoped it was not an empty threat.”

“Full sentences. Unacceptable,” says Blue, but she can’t quite manage to get up at the moment. “You deal with her.”

“My pleasure,” says Kíli, husky, and he meets Tauriel in the middle. He must taste her on Tauriel’s mouth, she thinks, and the knowledge of it sets a pleasant buzz going just under her skin. All she really wants to do is reach out and curl her hand around the base of Kíli’s cock, straining as it is, as it probably has been for ages now—does it hurt, she wonders, to be so stiff for so long?—but she can’t quite sit up, yet. So she rolls onto her side, still riding a few pleasant aftershocks, and watches as they kiss, as Tauriel wraps the slick-fingered hand that she’d used on Blue around Kíli’s cock and begins to move it in firm, even strokes. He likes it a bit harder than that, Blue knows, a bit faster, but Tauriel’s in a teasing mood, which is completely all right on her side of things. She slides a hand down between her legs and begins to explore as Kíli shudders a little, and rolls Tauriel back onto the mattress, tasting and touching. When he draws Tauriel’s earlobe into his mouth and sucks Tauriel tips her head back and groans. They’re beautiful in that moment, the light of the braziers playing over their skin, Kíli just a few shades darker than Tauriel and the seven stars of Durin scattered down his spine in bright blue ink.

Tauriel opens her eyes just enough to see that Blue’s moving again, and she reaches out with one hand dust her fingertips through the hair on the tops of Blue’s feet. Blue bites her lip to keep from squeaking at the intimacy of it—and why would she still be trembling because of that, when she just had Tauriel’s tongue inside her not too long ago?—and then crawls forward, unable to help herself. Tauriel takes her hand in hers and then holds it flat against Kíli’s hip, and Blue smiles. Of course. The three of them, always.

Kíli jerks and grunts when Blue wraps her fingers tight around him, squeezing a little harder than Tauriel had been, dragging her fingers through the hair at the base. Dwarves do something to their cocks at birth that means the foreskin is gone, and Blue isn’t really sad at the loss of it—she’d never liked having to work around it, back in the Shire, during her few experiments with sex beyond touching herself alone. She moves her hand in long firm tugs, swiping her thumb over the head and dragging her nail along the thick vein on the underside, and Kíli starts cursing, thickly, his eyes flickering beneath the lids. He’s a bit more slender than is usual in dwarves—he was actually a bit embarrassed about it, the first time—but he’s still quite beautifully shaped. She loves touching him.

“ _Amrâlimê_ ,” Blue murmurs, and his eyes snap open to meet hers. “I’m all right.”

He searches her face. Blue rests her forehead to his, slowing her hand but never stopping. Kíli is rolling his hips up into her now, biting hard at his lower lip. “Not. Supposed to know that word.”

“Then stop calling me that when you think I’m not listening, you loon.”

He swears under his breath again, but he’s smiling. Tauriel shifts until she’s bracing Blue’s back, her hands sliding down to cup Blue’s breasts, and Blue’s hand stutters on Kíli’s cock. She rocks her head back into the touch, biting her lip hard. “Your turn,” she says, “next, I swear.”

“I am quite content,” says Tauriel, but she’s panting, and Blue’s definitely going to call her on that little fib. Once Kíli finishes.

It doesn’t take much longer. She scrapes her stubby fingernails over his balls, and then bends down (Tauriel’s hands drop to her hips) and swirls her tongue over the head of his cock. It’s just enough; Kíli jerks, losing his rhythm, and then he’s coming over her fingers. Blue keeps stroking him through it, matching the thrusts of his hips, until finally he slows and stutters and stops, still swearing, but in Westron this time. She’s quite certain that Aulë will never be able to look at his hammer in the same way again. Tauriel’s _quivering_ against Blue’s back, and Blue glances at Kíli (he waves his hand feebly, trying to catch his breath) before sliding off the bed, and making her way over to the dresser where she keeps her handkerchiefs.

It’s only once she’s dried her hand as well as wiped Kíli clean that she turns, and says, “I think I promised you a bite.”

“Oh,” says Tauriel. There’s color high in her cheeks, all of a sudden. “Good. I had thought you would forget.”

“A Baggins always remembers her promises,” says Blue, and prods at Tauriel’s shoulders. Tauriel lies back slowly, her eyes never quite leaving Blue’s, and Blue bites the inside of her cheek hard enough to swell at the delicious tug and slide of Tauriel’s breasts against her own, at the feel of that freckled skin under her hands. Tauriel’s hand dances over the bandage on Blue’s arm, and then retreats, as if she’s not quite sure what to do about it. Blue lays a kiss on Tauriel’s palm. “I told you,” she says. “I’m here.” She sets her mouth to Tauriel’s for a moment, and then draws back. “Do you see? I’m here.”

“Yes,” says Tauriel.

Blue smiles. She brushes her lips over Tauriel’s sharp cheekbone, the line of her jaw, sliding her hand down to roll her thumb over Tauriel’s nipple. Tauriel’s already squirming—she’s never good at receiving rather than giving, never quite able to give up control—when Blue strokes her tongue up to the long pointed tip of Tauriel’s ear, and scrapes her teeth over the edge. The sound Tauriel makes is enough to make her wet again, squeezing her thighs together to fight that pounding empty ache. Blue hesitates, and then she closes her teeth around the tip of Tauriel’s ear.

Tauriel clenches her jaw hard enough to hurt to keep from yelping, and digs her nails into Blue’s thighs. “ _Oh_ ,” she says, in _such_ a voice, and so Blue does it again, and laps at the little dents she’s left behind with her tongue to try and soothe matters. Then she nips her a third time, and Tauriel arches like a bow drawn taut, clawing into the blankets. She doesn’t seem to be able to speak. Blue kisses her jaw, then her throat, and then uses her teeth again against Tauriel’s collarbone, something sure to leave a mark behind.

She hears Kíli before she feels him, shifting around in the blankets. He’s up—well, not _up_ , technically, but moving—he slides his hand into Blue’s before knocking his head against her temple.

“Look at you,” he says to Tauriel.

The noise Tauriel makes at that reverberates inside her like a struck bell. Blue traces a line down Tauriel’s body with her mouth, dropping open-mouthed kisses to the trio of freckles on her shoulder that remind her of stars, to the little pockmark just above her areola from a shooting accident, to the underside of her breast, warm and damp and heavy. She nuzzles into the damp red curls between Tauriel’s legs, and Tauriel nearly bucks, hooking one leg over Blue’s spine to try and hold her there. Blue smiles, and then shifts lower. Tauriel tastes like shadows, somehow—musky and sweet, almost, and as Blue swirls her tongue around Tauriel’s clit as Tauriel keens in a voice that she only ever hears in moments like these, when they’re all shattering to pieces and putting each other back together. Blue curls her tongue up and in, and at the very same moment she feels a hand against her backside and a palm against her slit.

Blue whines, and Tauriel _yelps_. So Blue does it again, of course, humming as deep as she can, and wets her fingers with her tongue before sliding one into Tauriel. Then she adds another, pushing in and out, hooking her fingers just so inside to just barely brush against that spot inside that’s very slightly different, one she can almost never reach on her own. At the same time, she draws the tip of her tongue against Tauriel’s clit, just hard enough for Tauriel to begin to chant under her breath in Sindarin. Kíli’s ghosting little touches over her own clit, and every time he does it she jerks her hips forward in an attempt to ease the ache inside. She can’t _say_ anything about it—though she thinks the way she’s jerking back to try and touch him is enough of an indicator that _yes that’s good keep doing that if you stop I’ll break your skull_ —but she’s going to lose her focus if he keeps doing it, and she really, _really_ wants to make Tauriel come first.

 _Bebother and confusticate dwarves_ , she thinks and then curls her tongue into Tauriel just enough to have her panting. Tauriel’s hips jerk once, and then again; her walls flutter around Blue’s fingers. Another handful of heartbeats has her arching so high off the bed that she ought not to be able to hold still. Blue twines her tongue in little circles as she pulses, humming softly. When Tauriel finally sinks back down into the bed, boneless, she presses a kiss to the inside of her thigh, and sits up slowly, only to find that Kíli’s right beside her, his hand snaking along the edge of her hip.

“Kíli,” she says, as a thumb brushes against her again. “I—oh.”

“Let me,” says Kíli. He leans around and kisses the soft spot behind her ear, panting a little. “Please. If you’re up to it. Please.”

Blue makes a guttural noise, and turns to him, chest to chest. She’s not sure if he pulls her forward or if she lifts herself, but suddenly he has one thigh pressed against her and she rocks into the touch, unable to help herself. Kíli kisses her almost, nipping her lower lip with his teeth, and winds his hands into the hair that’s cascading down her back. He kisses her, helps her rock, until she’s boneless, until she can’t tell up from down, and so when Tauriel catches her shoulders and pulls her back into the curve of her arms Blue doesn’t even jump.

“Kíli,” says Tauriel, but Kíli’s already shifted—he eases Blue off his thigh and gives her one last lingering kiss to her mouth before he sets to between her legs. He _loves_ doing this, fascinated with the way it tastes, how they react, and she’s more than willing to encourage more of _that,_ that’s for certain. He’s not quite as practiced at it as Tauriel, but he’s eager, the scruff on his chin and cheeks tickle in the most delightful way, and there might be more than a bit of natural talent there—Blue tastes blood in her mouth as she bites her tongue to keep from crying out. Blue hisses through her teeth and shoves back hard into Tauriel’s shoulder, digging her nails into Tauriel’s legs where they brace her at the hips, and Tauriel sets her lips to Blue’s ear. She doesn’t say anything, just kisses her there softly, once, again. Blue sobs aloud and knots her fingers into Kíli’s hair, over Kíli’s braid, as she blasts apart at the seams

The world rebuilds agonizingly slowly. Kíli lifts his head. Blue heaves for breath, struggling to catch up with everything, and then leans forward and kisses him. She’s not sure, at this point, if he tastes more of himself or of her, and if she hadn’t been utterly incapable of doing more than lift one hand she’d find that terribly arousing. As it is, all she really wants to do is curl up and sleep. She strokes his cheek with one hand, smiling.

“Well,” she says. “I feel spoiled.”

“Good,” says Kíli. He touches his lips to the heel of her palm, and covers her hand with his own. “That was the point, I think. Wasn’t it?”

Behind her, Tauriel nods, and leans back into the pillows, pulling Blue with her. She’s damp with sweat and still wet between the legs—someone really ought to get another handkerchief—but Blue’s too boneless to do more than lie back with her, brushing her fingertips over the love-bite on Tauriel’s collarbone with a vague sense of satisfaction. Kíli slips off the bed to steal one of her hankies (good; she’s trained him well) and wets it down with a bit of water from the bowl on her boudoir before returning. They share it evenly, and then leave it hanging near the brazier to dry. It’ll have to be washed tomorrow, Blue thinks hazily, and then she nuzzles into Tauriel’s silky hair. Kíli braces her back, hooking one proprietary arm over her waist, and he weaves his fingers together with Tauriel’s over Blue’s hip.

“Thought it was my idea,” says Blue sleepily.

“There was a certain amount of usurpation involved,” Tauriel hums, and presses a kiss to the top of Blue’s head. Then she shifts, and kisses Kíli too, soft and clinging, before settling herself against the pillows. Kíli tugs a blanket over the three of them, and kisses a freckle on the back of Blue’s shoulder (one she’s never seen, but one that he insists is there) before pulling her back into his chest. Her fingers and toes are still tingling in the most pleasant, wonderful, comforting kind of way. She’s quite certain she’ll wake up to Kíli having stolen all the covers, and Tauriel’s hair draped over her like a vivid waterfall, and quite possibly to being a bit too hot pressed between the two of them, but she’d not give it up. Not at all.

They’ll plan their counterattack in the morning. For now, there is just this.

**Author's Note:**

> Next comes StealthLiberal's lovely prompt! And then goldsickness, and then BOTFA, and then...who knows. I certainly don't. (This series might just stretch on into infinity, if I don't drive everyone mad long before then. Or if I haven't offended everyone horribly with my bad smut.)
> 
> (Also I just realized that this is the second fic where it ends with Blue falling asleep but IDGAF.)
> 
> I had a few questions about the Khuzdul and Sindarin on Tumblr, soooo:
> 
> Amrâlimê is translated by the lovely Neo-Khuzdul scholars of the internet as "my love" or "my dearest one." It's what Kíli calls Tauriel on the shores of the Long Lake in BOTFA.
> 
> A'maelamin is Sindarin for "my beloved". At least, I'm 95% sure that's what it means. I picked it up from one fic or another, so it might be wrong. 
> 
> Aew is, of course, Sindarin for bird.


End file.
